


Anything to Help

by Mirkwoodmaiden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirkwoodmaiden/pseuds/Mirkwoodmaiden
Summary: George is having difficulty dealing with Fred's death.  This is set just after the Battle of Hogwarts and the family and Harry and Hermione are all back at the Burrows.  George gets an unexpected visitor. The Major Character Death is Fred.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Anything to Help

**Author's Note:**

> This work was posted on HarryPotterFanFiction under my pseud of Ydara.

“Anything to Help!”

He had been sitting here in the garden watching the garden gnomes run riot. How long he had sat there he did not know, nor did he really care. He was finding it hard to care about anything right now. The war was won. Voldemort had been beaten just as he suspected he would be, by Harry. Three days, it had been three days since the Battle of Hogwarts. Three days without Fred. Days that from now on, would be without Fred. He could not even fathom it. It was not possible. But again unbidden, the memory of the moment he knew of Fred’s death played itself out in awful detail in his mind’s eye: the Great Hall where the bodies had been lined up… 

The battle had been fun, well, granted he and Fred had always had a skewed view of fun. He had entered the Great Hall, buoyant and stopped just inside the entrance. He felt his heart still as he saw his family off to one side gathered together looking down. His feet moved towards his family of their volition. His heart, still up to this point, remembered its function only to start slamming inside his ribcage. He was vaguely aware of his mother’s hand on his shoulder, but he only had eyes for the prone figure lying on the marble floor, not wanting to believe what some portion of him already knew to be true. “Fred? Fred-mate. Come on awake up! As good a joke as this is…It’s gotta stop! You’ll freak Mum out and then she’ll kill us.” He fell to his knees, shaking Fred a little, “Come on, Fred! It’s past a joke now. Mum’s not gonna like this one bit!” He felt Mum’s hand on his shoulder again and he looked up at her, his eyes a little wild, “I’m sorry, Mum. I don’t know what Fred’s playing at, but I wish he would stop!” George finished in an increasingly more panicked tone. 

He felt rather than heard his father kneel down beside him and a strong, begrimed hand turn his face towards him. He looked into his father’s concerned and tear-stained face. “George. I want you to listen to me. A portion of the outer wall was blasted by a spell. Fred was in front of the wall when it blew.” He paused and said as gently as he knew how, “Fred is dead, George. He died from the force and debris in the explosion. It’s not a joke.” George looked quizzically at his father, as if he did not understand what language his father was speaking. He looked at his Mum confusion and pain written on his young freckled face. “What is Dad saying? Fred’s only joking! Aren’t ya, mate!” He tried shaking his brother harder “Fred….come on…come on…” his voice growing softer, filling slowly with doubt. He stared at his brother’s lifeless body for what seemed like an endless minute. “You promised…”

George snapped out of his reverie when he noticed that a garden gnome was now sitting on his shoulder sticking a grimy little finger in his ear. “Get-off!” He yelled as he flung the little gnome with a force harder than he had meant and heard the little gnome scream as it flew against the compost pile and landed with a thud. George looked aggrieved and went to see how the little gnome had fared in his collision with compost. The gnome was still for a moment laying upended and half buried in the dunghill. Then it stirred, righted itself and with compost falling off him he spotted George and blew a rather indignant raspberry at the wizard who had so summarily dismissed him from their garden. The little gnome dusted himself off as best he could and walked off in an indignant huff. George laughed, the first laugh he’d had in a couple of days and turn to share the laugh with Fred and saw only emptiness. The laughter ended abruptly as it had started. Only to be replaced by an emptiness that scared him. Scared him more than facing an Army of Death-Eaters alone, but then he had never been alone. There had always been Fred.

“George.” 

He started and then realised it was his dad. Arthur Weasley saw the emptiness in his son’s eyes and it tore into his very soul. He had heard laughter just as he approached the back door leading unto the garden and it had given him a spark of hope, but seeing his son’s face, that hope rapidly faded. Looking at his son’s empty eyes, eyes that had so often sparkled with mischief and mirth, Arthur felt no sense of triumph over what they had achieved three days ago, only grief. Smoothing back his son’s unkempt red hair a stab of fresh pain and loss ripped through him as he remembered the maiming that his fifth son had taken the night they moved Harry from his aunt and uncle’s. Anger at what had been done to his son, to his twin sons, threatened to overwhelm Mr. Weasley, but anger would not do now. He needed to be strong for his sons, and his family. He held George’s head in his hands and said, “It is time to go.” 

George simply looked at him, at first as if he did not remember what was about to happen, then remembrance brought a fleeting pain that was gone in a second to be replaced again by emptiness. “All right,” he answered in a hollow, listless voice. They were going to the church and then the cemetery to bury his brother. He made to move but his father still held him, concern filling the pleasant face of the father of now, tragically, six. He blinked and a little life returned to his green eyes, “I’m all right, Dad. Really.” It was a lie they shared, but it would have to do for now. George walked into the kitchen and saw nine pairs of eyes upon him. His Mum, Ginny, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Bill, Fleur, Percy and Charlie. Harry and Hermione were staying at the Burrows. Harry indefinitely. Hermione, until she could fly to Australia and uncharm her parents, who thought they were named Wendell and Monica and had no daughter. All wore similar looks of caring and concern. The emptiness was replaced by irrational anger. “Will everyone PLEASE STOP LOOKING at ME. I’m all right!” he lied again for the second time in two minutes and walked toward the front door.

Mrs. Weasley rushed forward to hand him his mourning cloak, murmuring, “Of course you are m’dear.” as she fussed with his hair, subconsciously trying to cover his missing ear. George breathed deeply in an effort not to snap at his mother, she was only trying to comfort him. Succeeding he rewarded his mother with a small smile, “I’m fine.” He lied again. Tears formed in her green eyes, “Of course you are. My brave boy.” She caressed his cheek and turned to fluster away at Ginny’s mourning robes. George did not feel so brave, in fact he felt sick to his stomach, but he pressed on, grabbing unto the concept of forward momentum to make it through this day.

He made it through the service, he did not remember too much about it. He was numb inside and it seemed to have numbed his brain as well. He felt nothing. Except when he stood over Fred’s body lying in the casket draped in the colours of House Gryffindor. There he felt dizzy and as if he were slowing sinking into nothingness. He stood transfixed until Bill, who come had up with him, pried his hands off the casket and lead him back to their seats.

Arthur watched his fifth son pulled himself through the day. Grief stricken as he was he could only imagine what George was enduring. His marvelous and mischievous twins had been inseparable since birth. He smiled as he thought of a pair of five-year old hellions driving their Muggle teachers at the village school mad. There was the time where they were ten and they had rigged the fire alarm to go off by remote control, a remote control that they had hidden in George’s desk and every time it went off the small school had to evacuate. It was a week before the Muggle head master had discovered who was doing it and how. Officially Mr. Weasley, at the behest of Mrs. Weasley, had been shocked and dismayed, but secretly he had been truly impressed with their cleverness because it had been achieved without magic. Both he and Molly had been to the school so many times that the headmaster only half-kiddingly offered them their own parking space. He remember the look of pure joy that flashed across the Headmaster’s face when Mr. Weasley told them that neither Fred nor George, age eleven, would be returning to school in the village. And truth be told he had always thought the Muggles somewhat overacted when it came to Fred and George. They were just high-spirited young boys. So full of life and fun. Their minds sparked off of one another, creating the most brilliant mischief. 

He looked at his fifth son next to him, sitting so quietly, the look on his face becoming more blank and empty as shovel after shovel of dirt covered the lowered casket. It was almost more than he could bear. He wished he could have covered George’s eyes so that he would not see his brother being lowered into the ground, but he knew he could not. George had come age, he was not nine-years old where a plaster or a bottle of Skele-grow could fix anything. Some pain could not be healed, only endured.

The burial was ending and everyone was heading to the local wizarding pub where Ottery St. Catchpole’s version of the bun scramble was taking shape. Only three remained behind. George stood at the burial staring at the mound of freshly turned earth with Bill and his father standing a step or two behind. Mr. Weasley stepped forward and put a comforting arm around George meaning to lead him away from the burial. George resisted, “Can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” Mr. Weasley asked, though he suspected and feared the answer in equal parts.

“Can’t leave. Fred will be all alone.” George said in a small voice. 

Mr. Weasley closed his eyes against the pain that hid behind those words. Bill spoke up, “George, we have to leave now.”

“No. I’ll wait” George reiterated in an almost normal voice as if to say, ‘You go ahead, Fred and I will catch you up!’

Bill and his father exchanged concerned looks, and Bill broached the subject, “Wait for what, mate! There’s no one to wait for.” George looked at his oldest brother in shock and then seemed to acquiese. He took three steps away from the burial before stopping and would go no more. He broke from his brother’s gentle hold and fell on his knees at the edge of the grave, “Fred, don’t leave me, mate! I need you!” George fell forward, his straight arms sinking into the soft, turned soil and his whole body racking with huge sobs. “I’m sorry, Mate! I should have been there! I could have pushed you out of the way and you’d still be here. I’m sorry, Mate!” he cried. Arthur grabbed his distraught son, pulling him off the pile of soil and roughly into his arms rocking his nineteen-year old as if he were nine again. Holding so tightly he repeated over and over, “There was nothing you could have done, George. Nothing!” kissing his son’s forehead, “You may have gone, too! I could not bear that! We’ve already lost so much. I love you!” Tears streaming down his face, Bill knelt beside his father and brother, feeling at a loss to help George in any way, except to be present, to stick by his devastated younger brother. George sobbed for near half an hour and then lapsed into sleep in his father’s arms. 

Molly had come back to the graveside from the pub just down the way. Her heart broke anew as she beheld the scene in front of her. Her husband, with his bad back and painful knees was sitting on the ground with his nineteen-year old son curled his lap and sleeping soundly for probably the first time in weeks. Bill, her oldest, sitting back to back with his father trying to provide physical and at the same time emotional support for his Dad. Arthur was gently stroking his son’s hair and humming very softly a lullaby that Molly instantly recognised as a bedtime song that he used to hum to a very young set of twins while trying to get them to sleep. 

“I wondered what had happened to you three,” Arthur looked up and saw his Molly, never looking more beautiful she did right then, red-rimmed watery eyes aside.

“He couldn’t leave the graveside,” Arthur said kissing the top of his son’s red head. “So we didn’t either. But he finally cried, Molly, cried himself to sleep. I haven’t had the heart to move since. I can only pray that it has done him some good.” Molly smiled, love for this man filling her earnest green eyes. She shifted her gaze to her oldest, “And how are you holding up, m’dear.”

Bill looked bemused, “I’ve been better!” as he gave a tired smile that stretched his badly scarred face. “But I think I’ll survive.”

“Well m’loves, I think that that is all we can hope for sometimes.” Molly mused as she settled herself down next to Arthur and gently stroked her son’s freckled cheek, watching him sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A few weeks after the funerals of Lupin, Tonks and Fred, Molly bustled about the kitchen preparing lunch for the large brood she seemed to have acquired. Bill and Fleur had yet to depart for Shell Cottage and in truth she was glad they were staying. She did not think she could bear another good-bye however temporary. She wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by family and friends. Let others figure out the larger problems of the Wizarding world presented by Voldemort’s demise. The way she figured it the Weasleys had done more than their part in the fight against the Dark. One son dead, two maimed was more than enough payment. 

She looked up from directing the self-peeling spuds and the Hunter’s stew that was on the boil and saw a red head sitting on the sofa holding a pillow and listening to the wireless, at least she hoped that George was listening, but considering that it had been tuned to the Farm Report and George had not commented upon its boredom quotient which for him was always very high, she began to suspect otherwise. In the days following Fred’s funeral, George did not seem to notice a great deal of anything. She already lost Fred and now she was deathly afraid of losing George was well, of losing the bright spark that was her fifth child. His life spirit had always been so electric that it had seemed to crackle with energy. Now it truly seemed as if somebody had found a way in and dimmed the light of his soul. She stood looking at the still figure slumped on the sofa until she could bear it no longer. “George, dear. It is a beautiful day. Why don’t you go outside and see what Ron and Harry are doing?”

George inwardly winced at his mother’s transparent attempt to distract him and the underlying concern it belied, but he simply replied, “They’re with Ginny and Hermione and will want to be left alone, Mum.” And so do I, He finished inside his head. But he could be not that cruel to his Mum. 

“Oh!” Molly finished lamely, “I suppose they do.” Spying the paring knife about to start peeling the table after the last of the potatoes had been finished, she absentmindedly took out her wand, pointed at the knife “Diffindo reverso” and immediately the knife fell from the air to the table, inert once again. A crash from behind startled her and she immediately looked back into the living room, saw the pillow on the floor and the back door recoiling hard on its hinges. She felt a little relieved that George had taken her advice until she heard the advert currently playing on the wireless. “So if you need a little Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder for that special occasion or maybe your Skiving Snack Box is low on Nosebleed Nougats. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes is waiting for you.” She heard Fred’s voice, Don’t forget WWW on Diagon Ally! Accept no cheap imitations.” A knife slashed through her heart as she switched off the wireless with her wand. Looking at the now still backdoor she sank onto the sofa and clutching the pillow, the tears that she thought she had conquered started to fall in earnest once again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Air. That was what he needed desperately. The advert Fred and he had recorded months ago had come upon him unexpectantly. The effect had been visceral, upon hearing Fred’s voice on the airwaves, he sudden felt as if he were drowning. His breath stopped as grief gripped his heart. He had to escape. He knew his abrupt exit had likely upset his mum, but he just could not think about that right now. He tried to take deep breaths as he just kept walking. He found himself at the edge of the woods by the Burrows. He and Fred spent hours in this wood, laughing, playing, talking. Talking about the next bit of mischief that would confound their Headmaster at the village school before they went to Hogwarts. He felt as if his whole existence was unraveling at the moment and there was no set point upon which to anchor himself so he just kept walking. It was as if the physical activity kept him in the bounds in this world. Before long he felt rather than saw a presence with him. He walked. After about ten minutes he hear a voice that he knew better than his own. It seemed to say with Fred’s old lilt, 

“Where are we going, Mate?” George froze and then looked around. He saw nothing. Bloody Brilliant! Now I hearing things, he thought. 

“Hearing things?” the voice said again, “I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m here and I’m certainly not hearing things.” Again George stopped his forward momentum to look around and as he was looking left he heard a very small “boo!” in his right ear. He quickly turned and there stood Fred. George froze, could not believe his own eyes. Fred’s green eyes darkened with concern and he said in a much gentler voice, “It’s me.” 

“You are supposed to be dead. Or not?” George’s voice betraying the hope and excitement he was beginning to feel.

Fred wore a pained look on his face, “No, don’t get the hopes up. I am dead.”

Hope gone for the last time, George looked at his twin and began walking again, “Then forgive my curiosity, But what are you doing here?” he said a bit more caustically that he had meant to. Fred put an arm out to stop him. George paused and looked at him, amazement and desperation in equal measure written on his face. 

“I’m here to see you, but if you are going to take that attitude, I won’t bother.” With that Fred began to walk away and George could see his brother’s form slowly become more incorporeal with each steps.

“Wait!” George did not care whether at this moment he was losing his mind. After the last couple of weeks it would be a welcome change. His brother was here now and that was what mattered. Fred smiled and solidified as he walked over to his younger by-three-minutes brother. 

“I can’t stay for very long. I am actually surprised they let me.”

“Who?

“The powers that be. Can’t say more than that.”

George shrugged to say that it did not matter and reached out a tentative hand to touch his brothers shoulder. Fred watched him with a pained sympathetic look on his young freckled face and then found himself crushed in a giant bear hug as George whooped with joy, “It is you, Mate!” as he spun his brother around, life filling his heart once again.

“Easy! You’ll damage the merchandise!” Fred laughed as George set him down upon the crinkly leaves of the September earth.

“What do you care, you’re dead!” George retorted good-naturedly.

“That’s right,it must slipped my mind!”

“You were always very forgetful.”

“Me, what about you. Mr. Sieve-brained.” 

George sobered a bit, “But seriously, Mate. You left me. How could you do that? You promised.”

Fred looked into his brother’s eyes, “It wasn’t by choice, Mate. I didn’t want to die. It just happened.”

George turned and sat down upon a obliging tree trunk, “But you’ve left me…alone. I don’t mind telling you. It’s downright scary. It was always us and now it’s just me. Fred, what do I do?”

The pained look returned Fred’s face and he knelt down by his distraught brother, “I wish I could tell ya, mate. I truly do.”

A beginning of a usual George smirk and, “You are not going to tell me to live my life for the both of us, Are you?”

“Ooooo! You wound me! As if I would be so corny. I’m insulted. The pain!” Fred said as he clutched his heart and fell on his bottom.

“You are a nut! You know that of course!” George laughed and suddenly he did feel lighter in spirit.

“That’s it, mate. Just keep laughing! It will get you through the rough spots.”

“I’m going to miss you!” George said.

“Of course, who wouldn’t.” 

George grabbed a spare conker sitting on the ground and threw it at his brother, “Arrogant sod!”

Fred grinned mischievously, “That’s me!” he said and then sobered. “Look, I haven’t got much time. I was allowed to give you this.” He opened up his hand and upon it was a spot of brilliant, glowing light.

George had never seen anything more beautiful than that brilliant dot of light hovering just above Fred’s hand. “What it is?”

“A piece of my soul. So I can be with you always.” Fred gently blew the little dot toward George and George watched as it hover near him.

“Ask it in. It won’t go any further unless you want it.”

George smiled, “Yes, please.” And he watched as the little dot seem to blend into his body.

“Tell Mum and Dad that I love them and not to worry. I’m good.”

“They’ll never believe that!” George laughed.

Fred smiled, “Then tell them I’m happy, you twit!”

“That’s it, insult your younger and LIVING brother.” George retorted.

Fred laughed “At least they can definitely tell us apart!” George aimed another conker at his brother’s head, which Fred quickly dodged by spinning away. “Abuse!” George threw another but this one went straight through Fred. He looked down at his chest and looked up with chagrin upon his face. “Guess that’s my cue!” George looked a bit panicked.

“Can you come back?”

Fred smiled as he got up. “Don’t think so, Mate. This was kind of a one-shot deal.”

An awful thought struck George, “Your soul. I’ve not condemned you or anything, have I?

Fred assumed a “Igor” position, one shoulder higher than another and began to drag one leg behind, “Yes, Mathster, I am condemned to walk the earth soulless, now.” Fred said and then reverted back to his normal posture, “You have watched a few too many of those Muggle horror films ”

“Bastard!” George said good-naturally and then sobered as he stood up from the tree stump. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me, too. Mate! Must go.” A sad look crossed his face only to be chased away with a mischievous grin, “I’m Melting, I’m Melting!”** Fred quipped in his irascible old lady voice, quoting the Muggle movie, The Wizard of Oz. Even in death Fred was irrepressible.  
George laughed and watched his brother vanish into air. Fred was gone, and while his heart was still heavy, it wrapped itself around the little piece of Fred’s soul to warm it and keep it safe. He was not alone and he could accept Fred’s death a little better now. 

“Thanks, Mate.” George said. And inside his head he heard, “Not a problem. Anything to help my brother.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Molly watched the back door, willing it to open and reveal her son. She, at length, spied a redhead coming through the back garden and noticed that there was more of a spring in George’s step. She quickly dried her tears and waited for him. The door opened and then he gave Molly something she would always treasure beyond all the gold in Gringott’s; a smile. He walked into the kitchen, nicked a muffin that she had baked specially for that lunch, dunked it in the Hunter’s Stew and announced with a twinkle in his warm, green eyes, “When’s dinner, I’m starving!” Then he smirked in a way that curiously reminded her more of Fred. Somehow she knew from that second on that she need not be afraid, her George was back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

** quote from the “Wizard of Oz” film., 1939.


End file.
